


Cut Off

by zlicxn



Category: The Magnus Archives (Podcast)
Genre: Angst, Canon Compliant, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-13
Updated: 2021-01-13
Packaged: 2021-03-18 00:02:39
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,561
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28733904
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/zlicxn/pseuds/zlicxn
Summary: “But, Martin. When this is over-” Not if. Now’s not the time to think of what could happen if they lose, “You shouldn’t spend your life looking after someone. Not again. You should be happy.”“You want me to leave you,” Martin’s voice is hollow, “After we- you save the world, you just want me to, what? Go find another partner? Forget about you?”-In the tunnels, away from the eye, Jon can't help but wonder if this is what it will be like if they do save the world. If this is what he's going to be like.
Relationships: Martin Blackwood/Jonathan "Jon" Sims | The Archivist
Comments: 14
Kudos: 145





	Cut Off

It’s like cotton wool in his head. Things got… lost. Hiding out of sight. He could catch a glimpse, follow a long loose thread of conversation, winding it round and pulling taught, desperately trying to keep hold - until it slipped from his grasp or broke with the tension. Jon finds himself coming to at odd times, in new positions, more often than not with Martin yelling ‘Jon!’ in his ear. With how infrequent that’s getting though Jon knows that Martin must be getting sick of it. Of having to bring him back all the time, so even when he comes to himself he lets Martin and Melanie and Georgie speak about him as though he isn’t there. Lets them think he’s still gone.

“What, it’s not like planning will do any good!” Melanie’s annoyance is clear. She’s barely holding herself back from shouting, which is probably what snapped Jon back, really.

“I can explain it to him later,” Martin insists, “But we’re in the one place Jonah can’t see us. Don’t you think we should at least try-”

Melanie scoffs, “All our plans are based on nothing. We don’t even know what it’ll look like in there.”

There’s an itch in the back of his mind. The inside of the base of his skull and if he could reach it he feels he would find a festering wound, raw and scabbed. The door’s been ripped away from him and when he tries to think, to  _ know, _ the itching grows worse. He couldn’t even  _ know  _ what was in the panopticon before, but he could still reach for the knowledge. He could reach and find nothing, rather than banging on the place a door used to be.

“-Can’t deny he’s getting worse,” Georgie is saying and Jon swallows back any reaction. He is indeed getting worse, “He just… stares.”

“I know he is,” Martin hisses and he squeezes Jon’s hand, “I know. Please, can we not do this. Jon will be fine out of the tunnels.” Jon curls his fingers into Martin’s and he can feel Martin move just that little bit closer, telling him that he knows Jon is present. “Can we take a break. Five minutes.”

Melanie scoffs, “Yeah, sure. Whatever.”

Georgie gives Martin an apologetic look, but the two turn to leave. Martin pulls Jon a small ways as well. Whatever privacy they can get, Jon supposes, though that privacy is at the cost of his head.

“I’m sorry,” Jon says when they stop.

Martin hums, pressing a gentle kiss onto Jon’s hand, “Nothing to be sorry for. You can’t exactly help it.”

Jon doesn’t answer. That isn’t what he’s sorry for, but Martin couldn’t possibly know. His throat is dry, filled with dust and there isn’t even enough moisture in his mouth to change the dust into thick mud. He tries to swallow anyway, choke back a sob or a tumbling, rambling apology because Martin wouldn’t accept it. 

Martin’s fingers snap in his face and Jon blinks and looks up at him.

Jon mutters, “Please don’t do that.”

“Sorry,” Martin says, “You weren’t responding. I-I tried just your name but…”

Jon doesn’t look at him. He’d rather look anywhere else in fact. Wrenching himself in the present takes effort, a ridiculous amount, assessing every part of his body. The ache in his feet, the warmth of the hand in his own, the hollowness in his stomach -when did he last eat? The thoughts, like their own paths to tumble down, leading back into his head. Into just sitting and staring. There’s a fog that obscures the way ahead, the way to stay in the present. Jon bites the inside of his lip, Martin hated it when he dug his nails into his skin in an effort to keep with the conversation, to root himself anyway he knows how. But Martin can’t see the bite, and what Martin doesn’t know wont hurt him.

“I’m. I know this is hard. And you must have been thinking about it too,” Jon says. He tries to keep his voice steady but there’s an ever present tremor in him now. In his hands, his throat, his head. “You asked, at Upton House, what would happen if…” He tries to swallow again, “and if we do. I am sorry.”

“Don’t be,” Martin pulls him into a tight hug and maybe the arms holding his body in place will keep his mind from floating off too, “Don't. Please. If we do manage to- to kill Jonah. To save the world, whatever happens to you, I’ll be there.”

Jon flinches, “I don’t. Martin, that’s the last thing I want for you.”

Martin’s grip loosens. There’s a hand on Jon’s face, tilting his head up to look into Martin’s eyes - grey and soft. He is beautiful. “What do you mean?”

Jon’s eyes flicker down to his lips, his chin, back up to his hair - trying to take him in. Drink in every second of this time because he isn’t so foolish as to think they could win this. That killing Jonah and restoring the world could be easy and simple. He reaches for Martin’s hair, to brush it back and really measure the distance from eyebrow to hairline, and realises he’s sat. When did he sit down? “Sorry. How long-?”

“Just a few minutes,” Martin says, taking both of Jon’s hands now, “It looked like you were doing something important.”

His chest blooms with warmth, a fire alight to remember that these little moments are worth it on their own, even when everything else becomes ash. “Just seeing you.”

It’s impossible to see Martin’s shy and gap-toothed smile and not want to kiss him, and it will always be a wonderful thing that  _ he _ is allowed to do just that. To reach over and pull his boyfriends face into his own. To press himself close, curling one hand in his thick hair and the other into his shirt and crawl into his lap to be as close as possible. It’s a wonder they don’t meld together, he presses so hard.

When they break, Jon stays in his lap and just looks up at him, he still needs to know the distance from his lips to his nose, from his nose to his ears, off by heart. He needs to know these things even when he can’t  _ know _ them.

“What was that for?” Martin asks, and with his smile it takes everything in Jon not to do it again.

“I love you,” Jon says simply. His dry tongue licks his dry lips, “And I don’t want you loving me to get in the way of you being happy.”

Martin’s smile slides from his face, and his own hands slip from where they held onto Jon. Where they pulled him in. It’s like Martin’s strings have been cut and he just stares at Jon with a growing disbelief on his face. “Jon, whatever you- Me. Me loving you isn’t going to… I’m not unhappy.”

“I know.” And he does. “But, Martin. When this is over-” Not if. Now’s not the time to think of what could happen if they lose, “You shouldn’t spend your life looking after someone. Not again. You should be happy.”

“You want me to leave you,” Martin’s voice is hollow, “After we-  _ you _ save the world, you just want me to, what? Go find another partner? Forget about you?”

Jon retracts his hands into himself. No, he doesn’t want that. “I want,” He sighs, “I want you to be happy. To not be a burden on you, to let you live your life. Go back to school, get a job that makes you happy. I don’t want-”

“You don’t want me stuck with another sick person the rest of my life,” Martin says. And, well-

“Maybe.”

Martin nods, looking far above Jon. His large hands settle on each of Jon’s shoulders, “Jon. You won’t be like my Mother. I don't care if I have to get- to get three jobs at minimum wage and come home to make you food and tea. I don’t care if I get run ragged taking care of you. Jon, taking care of you is all I want.”

The tears on Jon’s face feel new but he could have been sitting staring at Martin after those words for hours, just silent sobs wracking his body and getting Martin’s shirt wet. He clings, desperate. Desperate.

“-I just want you,” Martin whispers, and again, like he’s been chanting it, “I just want you.”

Jon nods into his shoulder, he wont tell Martin about the guilt still rolling in his stomach. Instead he says, “I want you- us to be happy. Don’t give anything up for me, please.”

Martin doesn’t reply, he just rubs a gentle circle into Jon’s back with his thumb.

“Martin, promise me that you won’t give everything to me if I can’t do the same.”

But Martin only hums to him, rubbing those circles into him. And what more can Jon really expect from him. That guilty pit only grows wider, but he could live with it so long as Martin is humming a song he doesn’t know in his ear and drawing shapes into his back and swaying them both to his tune. Jon could live like this, with his head full of cotton and Martin by his side.

**Author's Note:**

> just thought I needed to get this out before the hiatus ends!  
> I'm on tumblr under the same name, @zlicxn


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